


No Time to Grieve

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: I Love Bad News: Amondi Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gen, Past Shepard/Liara T'Soni, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), but she's under a lot of stress, shepard's kind of being an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: Shepard is not handling Thane's impending death well.
Relationships: Thane Krios/Female Shepard, Thane Krios/Shepard
Series: I Love Bad News: Amondi Shepard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099259
Kudos: 3





	No Time to Grieve

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I punched out ages ago immediately after starting ME3 and encountering Thane at the hospital for the first time. I feel like Shepard--aside from being an island--probably relied a TON on Garrus and Liara as time went on, as those two were closest to her. They deserve some recognition for getting Shepard through to the end.

When Shepard left the hospital, she went straight to Purgatory. The throbbing music pulsed through her veins through both sets of doors, and by the time she entered the dark club, was almost enough to drown out her own thoughts. Dull red lights surged and receded around the dance floors, and the air as rank with sweat and other excretions of exertion. She was accustomed enough to the smell of turians and asari not to be bothered. For a beat or two, she stood there at the entrance, clenching and unclenching her hands, jittering on her feet, and then she made a beeline for Aria T’loak’s corner couch. Bold of her to sit with her back to the door—but Aria had the underworld by the balls and she knew it.

“Hey.” Aria rolled her head around on her neck and turned an indolent look at Shepard. “You could have fucking told me the Blue Suns want me to murder a turian general.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you needed me to lay out every fucking step of this,” Aria replied. “I thought you were _Commander Shepard_ , not some whiny Alliance brat who needs her hand held.”

“We’re at war and your dumb fuck mercs want me to kill a general.” Shepard had gotten away with a lot with Aria by virtue of her competence and the fact that she had done Aria a few favors. But tonight, she ground that goodwill into the dirt. Her blood was singing and she thought if Aria set her bodyguards on her, that would be just fine with Shepard. Hell, getting to take a swing at Aria herself sounded like a grand idea. “An _experienced_ general. The support of some shit mercs is not worth losing a goddamn turian general who’s trying to get weapons to us.”

“You better watch your tone, Shepard,” Aria warned, rising off her couch. A reasonable person would have stepped back, allowed themselves to be cowed by Aria’s presence. Shepard clenched her fists again. “I asked you to do this because I thought you were competent, and you’re willing to make the hard choices. But if you want to fuck around—you’re not as invincible as you think you are, and I can prove it. You haven’t been stupid so far, don’t start now.”

“Is that so?” Shepard ground her stare against Aria’s. “That sounds like a fucking challenge.” Aria looked Shepard up and down and curled her lip.

“You’re on something,” she said. “If you have a death wish, there are plenty of ways to get it without ruining my game. Kill Oraka or don’t. Darner doesn’t need him killed; he just wants it. I don’t care what he wants. All he needs is for Oraka to be out of the way. You’re a smart girl, you figure something out. Or you can forget about Blood Pack and Eclipse helping you out.” She dropped back down into her seat, throwing one leg over the other, and leaning back into the plush back. “Now piss off, Shepard. I have better things to listen to than your bitching.”

Shepard had enough wits yet to know she wasn’t quite ready to push Aria any further. She left.

She crossed over to the bar where she’d shared drinks with James and the Marines last time they were here. Thankfully, none of them were about now. The worst thing about being _Commander Shepard_ was that there was no anonymity left. Strangers worlds over recognized her, or her name. Here on the Citadel, most people could do a passing impression of her voice, thanks to that asinine Shepard VI. On the screen facing the main walkway, which she had to cross to get to the bar, there was a shimmering asari gyrating and undulating to the music. The shithole reminded her far too much of Chora’s Den.

She wished it _was_ Chora’s Den. Someone there might actually be stupid enough to pick a fight with her. Here, everyone was just trying (and regrettably, _succeeding_ ) to forget about the impending doom of the galaxy. Instead, she blasted through three shots without a single disturbance. She wished she’d worn her breather helmet. Anything to hide her face.

Chakwas had told her that stress would strain the healing of her scars, and the old doc hadn’t been wrong—she came back from the collector base looking like a goddamn jack-o-lantern. Couldn’t even see her own irises for the biotic implants in her eyes shining through her corneas. Two years on Earth, out of space, without the collectors and the reapers and the geth breathing down her neck, and her teammates begging her to solve their problems, and things had begun to heal up. She could almost recognize herself in the mirror again—minus the new wrinkles reminding her that forty drew ever nearer. But she had been looking herself over in the mirror before docking at the Citadel, and she had noticed that old wound on her eyebrow starting to split open again, and her cheek was red and irritated, right along the line of one of the gashes Cerberus had left there.

She knocked back another shot.

“Hey! Give me some of that turian shit,” she said to the bartender.

“That stuff’s pretty strong for humans,” he hedged, looking at the glass in her hand. “I’ve got some vodka here, or a Salarian ale.”

“Give. Me. The turian shit,” Shepard said. “Do I _look_ like I’m screwing around?” He served up the request.

Well, if looking like a reaper experiment herself was what was necessary to defeat the bastards, she’d accept it. Not like anyone was going to mourn the loss of her looks anyway—maybe Liara.

_Or should I forget there was ever anything between us?_

Shepard groaned and pressed her forehead against the bar.

_We should meet before something tears us apart again._

Shepard groaned louder and waved the bartender over. By the time Liara found her, she was so far gone she couldn’t tell if she was seeing things from the drink, or something else, or if what she was seeing was reality.

“Shepard!” She knew that softly disapproving voice. Shepard uncurled herself from where she was hunched over the bar, and looked up into Liara’s concerned eyes, crowned with a furrowed brow. “You look terrible.”

“Great. Perfect. You want a drink?”

“No, thank you. I was just looking for James.” Shepard gave an exaggerated shrug and wobbled on her stool. She itched her palms and rubbed them vigorously against her thighs. Shouldn’t have left Mordin’s medications behind on Earth!

“Hey…remember when I said we were just friends?” Shepard said, leaning in close to Liara, her gaze fixed burning and penetrating on Liara’s eyes.

“Yes…”

“Maybe we could just…you know…have fun?” Liara frowned deeply. “It’s just you’re so gorgeous, Liara. Always. And so smart! And I just…trust you with _everything_ , you know? So maybe we could…”

“Shepard, I think you need to leave,” Liara said, straightening.

“Leave? Go where? Fffffucking Aria wants me to kill a general for the Blue Suns or whatever, and I need their help for the reapers, and the council isn’t doing shit, and Joker’s in love with the ship’s AI, and my _fucking_ hamster is dead.” Liara moved away and leaned over the bar to exchange words with the bartender, who readily agreed not to serve anything else to the drunk in the corner.

“Come on, Shepard. Let’s go.” Liara started urging Shepard off her stool.

“Oh, we’re going? Great, great. You’re so sweet, Liara. Shit, you deserve better than me, really. Where do you want to go?”

“I’m taking you back to the ship, commander,” Liara said, guiding Shepard towards the exit. The commander raked her nails over her inner arms, and Liara could see it was not the first time.

“Oh.”

“You need some rest. And possibly to see Dr. Michel.” She’d nearly said _Dr. Chakwas._

“I need some krogan booze,” she said. Liara said nothing, just continued to lead the stumbling commander out of the club, hoping no one would recognize them. Shepard was scrutinized for everything now that she was the galactic face of humanity—this would give too much fodder to reporters who already had reason to dislike her. Liara had heard earlier that day the report that Shepard had decked one in the face again—and seen the video of the woman dodging, only to be nailed by a second punch.

Normally, they might stay in a hotel during their time at the Citadel, but the place was so crowded Shepard had made the decision to bunk on the Normandy rather than seeking alternate accommodations. Most crew members had followed her lead, but for some who had friends there to stay with, or other places to go. Liara dropped Shepard off in her cabin, briefly looking around. She wasn’t sure why—Shepard hadn’t been back in it long enough to have much in the way of personal affects, and she’d never personalized the place much before either. Shepard was out practically before she hit the mattress.

“Goodnight, Amondi,” Liara sighed, dimming the lights as she made her way out. What was there to feel nostalgic about? This wasn’t even the same room she had had her first rendezvous with the commander in—that cabin had been blown to bits along with the Normandy SR-1. “Get some rest.” She stepped out the automatic doors and took her leave. 

When Shepard woke in the morning, she was possibly more hungover than she had ever been before in her life. It took twenty minutes to peel herself off the bed and get into the bathroom to gargle and rinse her face. Feeling positively vile, she went down to the women’s room to shower. Since they were docked at the Citadel, she didn’t worry too much about using up resources—the steaming water cascading down her back felt like a lifeline. In the light she could see the rash on her skin now, and the claw-marks from her thoughtless scratching the day before. Gently, she dragged her fingers over the flushed and angry skin, and felt a deep ache in her throat.

After dressing, she picked up a cup of coffee from the mess, and midway through it, knew she couldn’t put it off anymore. Taking her coffee with, she went to Liara’s quarters. Glyph let her in, and Liara’s shoulders tensed as she looked over one of her computer screens.

“Hey, Liara.”

“Good morning, commander.” Shepard sighed and looked over Liara’s many monitors, rocking back on her heels and forcing herself to summon the words she knew she owed her old crewmate.

“Look, about last night…”

“It is fine,” Liara said tersely.

“No, look.” She came over to stand right beside Liara’s table and look at her directly. “I was way out of line. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that. I’m just—I’m sorry. That was inappropriate, and it won’t happen again.” Slowly, Liara nodded. “I didn’t mean for my problems to become your problems.”

“Is that not part of what being crew on the Normandy is about?” Liara asked. “We look out for each other here, Shepard. It is—one of the things I liked about working on our ship. I felt that my concerns were listened to, that my problems mattered.” Shepard looked down at her coffee and stepped away from Liara. “Shepard, if something is wrong…” She turned to look at the commander.

“I shouldn’t be pissing away time moaning about my personal problems when there’s so much at stake,” Shepard said, taking a seat on one of the crates stacked against the wall.

“You can worry about both things at once,” Liara said.

“But I _shouldn’t_ be. There’s so much at risk, I don’t have _time_ to waste on my personal life,” Shepard said. Her fingers clenched the coffee cup until her knuckles paled.

“Trying to pretend it is not happening will not help you.” Liara hesitated. “Clearly, that plan is not working well for you.” Shepard’s eyes snapped up, but she did not rebuke Liara’s forwardness. The fight seeped out of her once more, and she slouched over, her feet spread wide on the floor, elbows braced against her knees.

“Thane’s dying,” she croaked at last. Liara said nothing. “He’s—shit. I knew he was dying when I met him. He told me so. Lung rot, or whatever. But back when it seemed like we were all going to kick it defeating the collectors anyway, it didn’t seem like it mattered. Didn’t even seem real. This is the first time I’ve seen him since we got back and we’re…we’re talking _months._ Shit. I Shouldn’t even be talking about this to you, Liara. I’m sorry.” She dug her fingers into her hair, stopping short of pulling apart the Alliance regulation bun she wore it in.

“I am not going to fall apart because we are no longer together, Shepard,” Liara said. “And we are…still friends, I hope.”

“Of course,” she replied immediately, looking up again. “I said some dumb shit last night and I apologize for that, but I do trust you, Liara. I’ve always trusted you. It’s just, this is…I don’t know how to _talk_ about this stuff. I don’t even know who else I’d tell it to. Joker? He doesn’t want to sit around and listen to my bullshit!”

“Shepard, there is nothing wrong with asking a friend to listen to you.” Liara folded her hands in front of her and leaned back against the table. Shepard hung her head again, then put the coffee down and cradled her face between her hands.

“This will probably be the last time I see him,” she said. “Maybe not, but probably. I asked him to come with, said we’d find some light, non-combat role for him but…he said he couldn’t. Needs too much daily medical attention. I didn’t even ask what he’s told Kolyat.” Shepard took a shuddering breath, and Liara kept still, waiting for her to continue. “I think he wants me to go,” she ground out at last. “I think he’s afraid of me seeing him die. And I—” Her voice broke for a moment, and she had to swallow hard before going on. “I almost feel the same way. I can’t tell if it’s worse to fly away and get the news via email, or when I land back here, or to sit in some sterile room and watch him waste away. He looked bad, Liara. I don’t know a lot about drell physiology, but he didn’t look healthy.” Still, she remembered his face when he saw that she had come—after months and months of shooting messages into the dark from a hospital bed, he had reached her, and she had come. Not dead, not consumed by reapers or crushed in the destruction on Earth, but _alive_ , _there_ , before him. The memory, still fresh, made her throat ache painfully. Thane’s expressions were often hard to read, with his scaly face and shaded eyes, but she couldn’t mistake how he lifted her onto her toes when she kissed him, despite the cost of such exertions for him. How much longer would he be able to hold her that way?

She scratched at her hand again, noticed she was doing it, and cursed softly. Immediately after stopping, her hand moved up to itch her cheek.

“How is it that in the middle of all this reaper bullshit, I still have to deal with fucking terminal diseases? Can’t that shit be put on hold for a few months?” 

“It seems unfair,” Liara sympathized. “You know…before, when I joined you, I…felt similarly about Benezia. Of all the matriarchs in the world, why did it have to be my mother I was fighting against? And if it had to be her, why did it have to be me, fighting her? Any other asari could have done it.”

“No way,” Shepard said, shaking her head. “No one knows the protheans like you, Liara.”

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to make this about myself.”

“You didn’t.” Shepard picked her coffee up and tried to straighten up. “What are you supposed to say in these situations, anyway? I’m sorry? Well fuck, so am I. That doesn’t change a goddamn thing. Thane’s going to die whether we’re all sorry about it or not. And I don’t have the time to devote to mourning him.” She took a deep breath and got to her feet. “Sorry for puking all over you here. Feel free to return the favor.”

“Have you considered talking to Dr. Michel?” Liara asked.

“She’s a doctor, not a therapist,” Shepard said. “And I’m fine. It just blows is all.”

“She is here to make sure the crew is in good shape,” Liara said. “I’m sure she would be glad to be a listening ear if you need one.” Guilt gnawed at Shepard’s innards again—whatever Liara said, talking to her about Thane’s imminent demise, and how it would affect Shepard herself, seemed crass. “And if not that, she might be able to give you something for your skin.”

Shepard groaned.

“ _Fuck_ this. Solus gave me something for it before, but of course I left it behind on Earth…Didn’t really think I was going to _need_ it. I suppose I _won’t_ , really. This will clear up by the end of the day, probably,” she said, with a frown and downcast eyes, rubbing her arm gently.

“Don’t keep your grief to yourself, Shepard,” Liara insisted, reaching out to touch Shepard’s arm lightly. “If you don’t want to talk to me, talk to someone else. Dr. Michel, or Garrus, or Kaiden. Someone. Keeping it all to yourself will make you feel worse.”

Shepard sighed again.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s what the Marine doctors say too. It just doesn’t seem worth talking about. What’s the death of one man, when our entire galaxy might be destroyed?”

“To you, a lot,” Liara said softly. Shepard looked at the floor, and Liara lurched forward and wrapped her arms around her. After a pause, Shepard embraced her in return, squeezing Liara tightly.

“I was right about one thing last night,” Shepard muttered. “You were always way too good for me.”

“We are all in this together,” Liara said. “We have to be there for each other.” Shepard rubbed Liara’s back and stepped back.

“It’s a good thing I have you and Garrus around, or I think I’d have gone batshit crazy by now,” she said.

“Oh no, I am sure you would have managed,” Liara said. Shepard shook her head.

“Managed myself into a nuthouse,” Shepard said. “Seriously. If I could handpick who’s going with me to stop this, I’d pick you two, first off.” A little smile flickered on Liara’s face. “Thanks, Liara.”

“Of course. I will be sure to return the favor, if necessary,” she added, the smile still toying with her lips as Shepard turned to go. “And Shepard? I…think you should talk to the son. He probably understands what you are going through more than anyone.”

Shepard glanced down, an unusual thoughtful look hanging over her eyes.

“Yeah…yeah, I probably should. He’ll deserve to hear it from someone who knew Thane.” Thinking of that conversation made this one feel like a goddamn cakewalk.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, you might also like...  
> \- [For the War Effort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185330) by BenevolentErrancy  
> \- [Cardamom and Cloves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23591446) by wolframbeta  
> \- [Replay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/406106) by DrJekyl


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